A man his age hadn’t experienced all that Josh Cain had, didn’t have the same wealth of wisdom to draw on. After Trenton had matured, he’d probably carry the same strength in him that she now saw in Josh Cain.
The storm passed in the wee hours of the morning. Waking with a start, Josh quickly sat up, found his boots by the fireplace, and slipped them on. Camellia lay asleep under the table by Beth, her hair framing her face. Josh watched her for several minutes, listened to the sound of her breathing. An ache welled up in his stomach at her beauty, but then he thought of Anna and guilt pushed at his throat. What kind of man was he to feel this way about Camellia so soon after Anna’s death? A sorry man, that’s what kind. Of course, he already knew that about himself, had known it for a long time, ever since the war … ever since …
Not wanting to think of the past, Josh rubbed sleep from his eyes and decided to get going. No telling how much damage the storm had caused. He gently touched Camellia on the shoulder, and she awoke.
“I need to go,” he said softly.
She sat up sleepily.
“I’ll tell your pa and Master Trenton that you’re safe.”
“I’ll see to the children, then come to the manse.”
Josh smiled. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you once you marry. You’ve done more than anybody to get us through these last months. The Lord surely sent you to us.”
Camellia waved off the compliment. “I’m doing what anybody would. I love your kids. They make me feel … needed.”
Josh nodded, slipped on his hat, and stood to leave.
“You need some food,” she said.
“I’ll eat later.” He headed to the door, then stopped for one more look at Camellia. “You’re an angel.”
“Go on,” said Camellia shyly. “I’ll get the children up. See you later.”
He left then, stepped off the porch, and headed to The Oak. He found almost everybody else outside, their eyes wide with wonder as they examined the damage left behind. Josh saw Trenton almost immediately and told him that Camellia was safe at his house. His hair unkempt and eyes frantic, Trenton nodded but then hurried away toward the manse. Josh wondered why he didn’t run immediately to see Camellia. A man with a good heart would do just that. It made Josh a little angry, but it was none of his business.
“I’ve done a quick check already,” said York, now by his side. “Looks like some major roof damage to one of the barns. And three of the darkies’ barracks are smashed.”
“Any deaths?”
“None I know of; thank the Lord for that.”
“You getting religious on me all of a sudden?”
“Hey, I’m coverin’ my bets, that’s all. I’m not a complete heathen.”
Josh laughed. “You been to the fields yet?”
“Nope, that was my next stop.”
Josh led York down the gravel path toward the first section of the rice fields. Neither man spoke; they knew what they might find, and it scared them. Their pace picked up as they neared the fields. Mud sucked at their boots, and water dripped everywhere. York reached the field first, Josh right behind him. York bent to one knee, took off his hat, and dropped his head in his hands. Josh caught his breath. As far as he could see, the fields were flooded. The ocean surge and rain from the storm had pushed the river over its banks and into the fields of mature rice. The wind had blown the rice down too … broken much of it, then left the rest bent sideways in the flooded mud.
Josh stepped into the field. Although much of the water had drained away after the peak of the river’s surge, it still reached about halfway up his boots. He bent, cupped a hand in the water, and took a drink. The water gagged him and he spit it out.
York looked at him hopefully.
Josh shook his head. “Got some salt in it. Not as bad as the ocean water, but still some.”
York dropped his eyes.
Josh sighed and stood. The storm had pushed and blown salt water into the rice fields, a death sentence for rice if the level was high enough. “These are the fields closest to the river. Some of the others are probably okay if we can get some sun real fast and dry it out before it rots.”
York stood too and gazed in all directions. “It’s a mess. At most, we might salvage half the crop. That’s not even countin’ the money it’ll take to repair the dikes and canals, the barns and houses.”
“We got our work cut out for us, that’s for sure. But it could have been a lot worse. Not a full hurricane, I don’t think, and we got all winter to worry about fixing things. Let’s get in as much as we can, then do the repairs to get ready for next year’s crop.”
“You don’t understand,” York said slowly, as if in a daze. “The last couple of years have gone hard on The Oak.”
“I know the yield’s some lower, but all folks go through that. Some years you get more, some less.”
“The Tessiers don’t have much to see them through the lean years, that’s what I’m tryin’ to tell you.”
Josh focused on his muddy boots. “What are you saying? What else can we do but repair the damage, get in as much crop as we can? After that, it’s out of our hands. The Tessiers will do what they have to do. We have no control over any of that.”
York rubbed his beard and addressed Josh as if talking to a child. “They could end up losin’ the place. What do you think that means for me and you?”
“We find work with whoever buys it,” replied Josh.
York snorted. “You’re such a simple man. “What if they don’t keep growin’ rice here? Lots of folks are changin’ over, going to island cotton. You know that.”
“I could learn to grow cotton. So could you.”
“But what about Camellia?” York asked. “She and Trenton are to marry in May. You think this won’t change that? If he marries Camellia, Mrs. Tessier’s already threatened him with losin’ this place. She’s pushin’ him to make a marriage with somebody with money, family name. This storm”—he waved his arms over the damaged fields—“might have wrecked all Camellia’s hopes. Trenton’s too.”
Josh stared at the rice, trying to decide whether he ought to say what he felt. As York hung his head, Josh stepped to him. “Look. We can speak openly to each other, right? We got that much between us.”
York nodded.
“Okay,” said Josh. “Here’s what I got to say. First, it’s not my place to speak about what Camellia and Trenton ought to do. That’s surely up to them. But I have to tell you, if Trenton lets his mother push him one way or the other on it, then you best be mighty grateful if he ends up backing out of the marriage. Any man who can’t see what a treasure Camellia is, any man who wouldn’t marry her no matter whether he had a dime to his name or not, why that man ought to just go on and die because he’s got nary a brain in his head. So, yes, all this is a hard thing—this storm coming and The Oak heading for tough times. But that shouldn’t matter one bit to Trenton, not if he loves Camellia, and not if it’s the right thing, the Lord’s will for them to marry.” Josh stopped to take a breath.
York tilted his head toward Josh. “That’s a long speech, but a plain one.”
“I believe it,” Josh stated firmly.
York took off his hat and gazed into it, as if he could find the secret to life there, “I don’t know … I been tryin’ all my life to make somethin’ of myself, somethin’ for Camellia, my boys. But it seems that somethin’ always messes things up. Here we got Camellia and Master Trenton all promised to each other. But this storm and the need for money could ruin everythin’.”
Josh winced. Although he didn’t like to think it, the notion came to him that York wanted Camellia to marry Master Trenton as much for him as for her. When he spoke, though, he didn’t mention that. “If any of this ruins their marriage plans, maybe it’s not the Lord’s desire for them to become husband and wife.”
York put his hat back on. “I don’t know too much about the Lord’s desire.”
“I don’t claim to know it either. Bu
t I do believe if a man looks to find it, he will. Yes, he’ll stumble some along the way, get off the path here and there, but the Lord will keep giving him just enough light to take the next step.”
“Wish I could trust that. But I’d rather trust myself, do things my own way.”
“Like with the man at Mossy Bank?” Josh threw in.
“Yes, like that,” York said sternly.
“You need to know I’ve made up my mind to find the rightful owner. I’ve waited too long already. Don’t plan to wait any longer.”
“Do what you want; the trail is cold for sure.”
“I don’t understand you sometimes.”
York grunted and started walking back toward the manse. “Got no time to talk of this. Master Trenton will wonder where we are. Best get back.”
Josh hurried after him, mad at himself for not standing stronger against his brother. As they reached the yard he saw Camellia headed toward them, her blue eyes bright. His legs weakened for just a second, and an unworthy thought ran through his head. He didn’t want her to marry Master Trenton! If she did, that meant … He turned away and pushed the thought out of his mind. She would marry Master Trenton. She was promised to him, and Josh had no right to want anything else. Yet, he couldn’t help but see a match with Trenton Tessier as a disaster. The man had no kindness in him, no good heart. Trenton would hurt Camellia; Josh knew it.
Facing Camellia and York again, Josh sighed. He had no right to think ill of Trenton Tessier. As bad as he himself was, Josh Cain had no right to throw the first stone.
Chapter Seventeen
The next four weeks passed like a buggy pulled by runaway horses for Trenton Tessier. He woke up every morning with but one desire in his head—a drive to get as much rice as possible out of the fields and to market. He pushed everybody harder than any master had ever pushed, and the field hands went into their houses way past dark every night. He spent almost no time with Camellia in those weeks. And when he did see her, he offered little by way of cheer.
“Seems like the whole world is against me,” he moaned more than once. “No matter what I do, something awful still happens.”
Camellia held his hand and offered encouragement, but nothing she said made any difference in his mood. Grinding his teeth, he barked and yelled all day; rushed here and cracked his whip there. When servants saw him they got out of his way, lest his roan stallion run them down with nary a notice from the angry man on his back. Trenton barely slept at night, and except for his attention to the harvest, the rest of his mind went blank, as if somebody had taken a painting and wiped all the color from it. His face took on a worn look with a lot of added lines and cuts way past its years.
When October ended, and the workers had harvested all they could, Trenton sat down at his desk in the study, added everything up, and discovered that he’d salvaged just over 70 percent of the crop—a result not quite as bad as he’d first feared, but not nearly good enough to keep the plantation from registering huge losses for the year. For a couple of days he walked around dazed by the depth of his misfortune. Again Camellia tried to talk to him, but he paid her no attention. What did a woman know or understand about a man’s troubles? What could she do about them even if she did know?
About the only thing that cheered Trenton in those days was the fact that Calvin had come home at the first of the month. His mother had sent him, he said. Wanted him to aid Trenton any way he could. She knew from Trenton’s letters that the storm had done major damage, and since she couldn’t come herself, due to some pressing business with her sons-in-law, Luther and Gerald, she wanted Calvin there in her place.
Trenton met Calvin early every morning, and the two of them rode over The Oak in quiet inspection, discussing their next steps. Although Trenton didn’t tell Calvin all the problems, he did offer enough for his younger brother to understand that things weren’t promising.
“You have to go to Charleston and tell Mother the extent of the matter,” Calvin said after his first few days home.
“I know,” agreed Trenton. “She’ll need to know everything so she can make the proper arrangements at the bank to tide us over until next year. I hate to face her, though. She will surely press me again about my plans with Camellia.”
“She’ll do what she has to do,” Calvin assured him. “She’s got your best interest at heart, even when she disagrees with you.”
“She has her own best interests at heart,” said Trenton bitterly. “You’re still young, but you need to learn that now. Mother protects herself first and then looks to others next.”
“You’re a callous son.”
“Perhaps. But give yourself time; you’ll find out what I mean.”
Finished with all he could accomplish at The Oak, Trenton squared his shoulders and got ready to go to Charleston. Although wishing with all his heart to avoid it, he knew he couldn’t any longer. He told Camellia just before he left, “I’ll come home as quickly as possible. Your father and I need to sell the crop; and I’m required to visit with my mother and family.”
“I understand,” she said gently. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He took her hands. “I know I’ve not seen you much lately. But I’ve had so much responsibility.”
She put a finger on his lips. “Don’t worry,” she soothed. “I know what happened. You don’t have to explain.”
He squeezed her hands. “We’ll make plans for our marriage when I get back.”
“Go,” she said. “Write me letters.”
His head snapped up with curiosity. She dropped her eyes. “I’ve … learned some … how to read,” she explained.
“But how?”
“I study,” she finally said. “Pick up things.”
From her evasive answer, he got the sense she wanted to keep something hidden. He eyed her for another second, then let it drop. “Letters then. I’ll try to remember.”
He left the next day, a servant-driven carriage full of baggage following as he, Calvin, and York galloped out on their horses.
Camellia ate supper that night with Josh and his children. Although her pa had gone with Trenton, Josh had stayed behind to begin repairs on the fields, particularly the damaged dikes and canals that controlled the water flow. After she had prepared the food, Josh came in and helped her carry it to the table—biscuits, a cut of ham, and peas from the garden he kept behind his house. The children talked loudly as they ate, but Josh and Camellia were quiet. When everyone had finished eating, Beth asked Camellia to read to them. She brought out a copy of A Tale of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens, that her pa had gotten for her from the Tessiers’ library, opened it, and struggled through a few pages. Butler became restless quickly, and after a few more minutes, Beth led him and Lucy out to the yard for some last-minute play before bedtime.
Camellia and Josh remained at the table. He drizzled some honey on one of the biscuits.
“Your reading is coming along fine,” he said. “Wonderful for somebody who’s as new to it as you are.”
“Ruby says I’m almost to the point that she can’t teach me much more.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. You’re about to catch me too.”
“I’ve got a long way to catch you. I want to go further, though,” she said eagerly. “You know, to school and all. I feel like there’s so much more I don’t know.”
“A body can never know it all. My mama used to tell me that.”
“I never knew my mama.” Camellia sighed.
“That is sad for a child,” he agreed. “Especially a daughter.”
“Pa won’t speak much of her. I reckon it hurts him too much.”
When Josh stared intently at his hands, she wondered what he found so interesting on them. “You never knew her, did you?” she asked.
“Nope. She married your pa before the war and was gone before I came to York and The Oak.”
“You and Pa were separated for a long time.”
“He headed out on his own the year he turne
d seventeen. Lived in and around Charleston, Savannah, made a living working horses for some stable owners, doing some gambling.”
“You got back together about the time the war started.”
“Yes, my mama died in ’46. I didn’t know where else to go. York had taken work at The Oak, asked me to come with him. I came here, then the war started. We both went off to fight it.”
“You were mighty young for that.”
He looked at his shoes, and she saw he felt bad about something. She changed the subject. “What’s Pa told you about my mama?”
“Not a lot. Just that she was a beautiful woman and he loved her. You want to know more, uh … you need to ask him. I know she loved you, though. What mama wouldn’t love a daughter like you?”
Through his hesitation, Camellia sensed Josh Cain knew more, but he wasn’t willing to tell. So she said simply, “I want to know what colors to wear in what season. What a lady should say or not say in certain social situations, how to properly set a table, where to put the forks and spoons.”
“All fine things to know,” Josh replied. “Things a mama would teach a daughter. But my Anna never knew any of that, so I guess none of it is essential to be a good person, to live a fine life.”
Camellia dropped her eyes as she recognized the truth of his words. A lot of her motive for wanting to learn came from her vanity—a desire to become a proper lady. In addition, she wanted to please Trenton’s mother and the people she’d deal with after she married him. She pondered that for a second, her need to please people she didn’t even know. She wondered if her hopes pleased the Lord; it bothered her to think that maybe they didn’t, but she didn’t see any way to do anything about it.
“I want Trenton to feel proud of me. His family too.”
Josh’s jaw firmed. Camellia got the impression he wanted to say something sharp, but he kept his voice even as he spoke. “Master Trenton did a fine job these last few weeks,” he offered.
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